The transition from the mortal world to the Azure Cloud Sect was a lesson in atmospheric pressure.

  As Mingzhi and Rou stepped through the shimmering veil between the white marble pillars, the air rippled over their skin like a waterfall of static electricity. It was heavy, resistant, and made the hair on their arms stand up.

  "The Grand Azure Defense Array," the Spirit’s voice critiqued instantly in Mingzhi’s mind. “It is crude…, inefficient.”

  Mingzhi glanced up at the pulsing nodes on the pillars. "Inefficient?"

  “Yes,” the Spirit replied flatly. "The nodes are anchored to the granite cliffs rather than the natural 'Dragon Vein' flowing beneath the peak. It is fighting the mountain instead of using it. It wastes approximately thirty percent of its energy output just maintaining stability. A leaky door."

  Mingzhi smirked faintly. A leaky door for a leaky disciple. Fitting.

  They emerged onto the plateau, and the full scale of the Sect revealed itself. It wasn't just a collection of buildings; it was a vertical city carved into the spine of the heavens.

  To the west lay the Outer Sect: a sprawling, grey grid of stone dormitories, training grounds, and massive, smoking workshops. Mingzhi noted the rows of low-grade alchemy furnaces puffing multi-colored smoke into the air—the industrial heart of the sect, where thousands of disciples toiled to refine basic pills.

  Higher up, clinging to the mist-shrouded cliffs, were the elegant pagodas of the Inner Sect. These were built of white jade and blue tile, connected by floating bridges that defied gravity. Between the buildings, Mingzhi spotted terraced gardens where disciples in blue robes tended to rows of glowing Spirit Herbs, shielding them from the mountain wind with delicate arrays.

  And at the very peak, piercing the clouds, stood the Core Peak. It was a golden palace that glowed with its own internal light, looking down on the world like a god.

  "It’s huge," Rou whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the layout. "The Herb Farms alone are bigger than our entire village."

  They were herded into the Selection Hall, a massive open-air amphitheater carved directly into the mountain's flank. It was a bowl of grey stone, large enough to hold five thousand people, with acoustics designed to carry a whisper from the center stage to the highest row.

  High above the candidates, a limestone balcony jutted out, overlooking the arena. This was the seat of power, the Elders took seat there.

  Mingzhi’s eyes locked onto the central figure immediately.

  Sitting on the Sect Master’s throne—a seat too large and too imposing for her slender frame—was Lin Qingyu.

  She wore the red ceremonial robes of authority, but her face was pale, her expression tight. A cold knot formed in Mingzhi’s stomach. Why is she sitting there? Where is Uncle Lin?

  As if sensing his gaze, Qingyu’s eyes flickered across the sea of faces. She paused when she found him. A flash of relief crossed her face—a momentary crack in her icy mask—before she smoothed it back into cold, regal professionalism.

  To her right, standing in the shadows of the pillars, was Wang Long. The eldest Wang brother wore the navy robes of an Inner Disciple, his arms crossed, looking down at the "ants" below. He leaned over and whispered to an Elder with a thin, rat-like beard—Elder Zhang.

  "That one," Wang Long murmured, his voice low but carrying a distinct menace. He pointed a finger, tracing a line through the crowd until it settled on Mingzhi. "The boy in the grey tunic."

  Elder Zhang followed the finger. His eyes narrowed, glittering with calculation. "The Xie boy? The one your father mentioned?"

  "He humiliated Wang Hu," Wang Long said coldly. "The Wang family invests heavily in your faction, Elder. We would be... disappointed if trash like that polluted the Sect."

  Elder Zhang stroked his thin beard, a cruel smile touching his lips. "Do not worry, Nephew Wang. The tests are rigorous. Accidents happen. Standards are enforced."

  Mingzhi felt the weight of their gaze. It was a physical pressure, like a target being painted on his forehead.

  "Spirit," Mingzhi thought. "Do you feel it too?"

  “They intend you harm,” the Spirit said quietly.

  A pause.

  “Both of them. We are marked.”

  Beside him, Rou shivered, dimming her aura as Mingzhi had taught her. "That Elder... he feels slimy. Like a river eel."

  "Stay sharp," Mingzhi murmured. "Focus on your breathing. Remember the plan: Average. Forgettable."

  The crowd below was buzzing with nervous energy, the sound rising to a dull roar.

  "Silence!"

  Elder Zhang stepped to the railing. His voice was amplified by Qi, booming across the plaza like rolling thunder. The pressure brought the thousands of candidates to a hush instantly.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "My name is Elder Zhang. Today, the Azure Cloud Sect opens its gates. Standing before you is the Young Sect Master, Lin Qingyu. She will oversee the selection in her father’s absence."

  Qingyu stood up. She didn't shout, but her voice carried clearly, sharp and cold.

  "The path of cultivation is steep," she said. "We do not care about your background. We care about your potential. Pass the tests, and you may enter the Outer Sect. Fail, and you return to the dust."

  She sat down abruptly, her eyes staring straight ahead, refusing to look at the Wang faction.

  Elder Zhang took the center stage again.

  "Listen well! The path is barred by Three Gates. You must pass the threshold of each to enter."

  He gestured to the massive artifacts being wheeled onto the stage below.

  "The First Gate is The Body."

  He pointed to a massive, five-sided crystal pillar and a clear crystal orb beside it.

  "The Pentagonal Stone measures your Constitution. You will touch it, and your affinity will light the corresponding facet. Following that, you will touch the Resonance Orb to measure the Quality of your Seed. A dim light is Low Grade. A bright light is High Grade. If the stone remains dark, leave the mountain."

  "The Second Gate is The Will."

  He pointed to a row of stone tables where heavy iron spheres rested in grooves.

  "The Sphere of Control measures your strength and precision. This sphere is made of Heavy Spirit Iron. You must use your Qi to lift the sphere—proving your strength and cultivation—and guide it through the wire maze without touching the metal sides—proving your control. Brute force without control is merely a beast's rampage."

  "The Third Gate is Understanding."

  He pointed to a row of desks where scribes sat with scrolls.

  "The Daoist Inquiry. You will be asked questions regarding the history, herbology, and theory of cultivation. A disciple who does not know the difference between a Spirit Grass and a Death Root is a dead disciple."

  The Elder swept his gaze over the thousands of trembling youths, his eyes lingering for a second on Mingzhi.

  "The path to the Heavens is narrow!" Zhang bellowed. "Thousands stand before me. But by sunset, only a handful will remain. The Azure Cloud Sect has no use for waste."

  "Pass all three, and you become an Outer Disciple. Fail any, and you are dismissed. Begin!"

  The First Gate opened, and the culling began.

  It was a brutal spectacle. The line of candidates moved forward like cattle. One by one, they placed their trembling hands on the Pentagonal Stone.

  "No reaction. Failed!"

  "Dim Red. Low-Grade Fire. Failed!"

  "Unstable affinity. Failed!"

  Dozens were rejected in the first few minutes. Young men and women who had traveled for weeks fell to their knees weeping as deacons dragged them away. The path of cultivation was not for the mediocre.

  Occasionally, a cheer would erupt. A boy from a merchant clan lit up the Green facet—High-Grade Wood. He was ushered to the side, beaming.

  Then, the Wang family stepped up.

  "Wang Hu!"

  The youngest Wang brother swaggered to the front. He looked back at Mingzhi, sneering, before slamming his hand onto the stone.

  HUM.

  The Yellow facet flared with a thick, aggressive light.

  "High-Grade Earth," the deacon announced loud enough for the balcony to hear.

  Wang Hu moved to the Resonance Orb. He gripped it. Inside the crystal, a murky, greyish-yellow fog swirled, forming a dense cloud.

  "Seed Quality: Mid-Grade. Solid foundation."

  "Pass!"

  Wang Hu crossed his arms, standing with the winners. "Top that, Mud Rat," he mouthed.

  "Next! Chen Rou!"

  Rou stepped up. She was pale, clutching her sleeves. She looked back at Mingzhi, who gave her a subtle nod. Dim it, his eyes said. But don't hide your nature.

  She touched the Constitution Stone.

  WHOOSH.

  A pillar of Blue light erupted. It wasn't just bright; it was pure. The surrounding air instantly cooled, and a fine mist condensed around the stage. Even with her holding back, a 96% affinity was impossible to fully mask.

  The crowd gasped.

  "Heavens... look at that purity!"

  "A Water Spirit Body?"

  Elder Zhang leaned over the railing, his eyes wide with greed. "Peak-Grade Water Constitution... A natural cauldron for cultivation."

  Qingyu also stood up, looking surprised.

  Rou moved to the Seed Orb. She focused on the dampening technique Mingzhi had taught her. She touched the glass.

  The light inside was clear and steady—a beautiful azure blue—but she capped the intensity.

  "Seed Quality: Mid-High," the deacon noted, sounding slightly surprised it wasn't higher given her constitution. "Regardless... Excellent. Pass!"

  Rou hurried to the side, trying to make herself small despite the stares of awe.

  "Next! Xie Mingzhi!"

  Mingzhi walked up. The murmurs in the crowd shifted from awe to skepticism. His grey tunic was worn, his boots muddy.

  "That's the one," Wang Long whispered to Elder Zhang on the balcony.

  Mingzhi placed his hand on the Constitution Stone.

  Flicker.

  All five colors—Yellow, Red, Blue, White, Green—lit up simultaneously. But there was no brilliance. It looked like a muddy puddle. The lights fought each other, dim and chaotic.

  "Five-Element Balanced Body," the deacon announced, curling his lip. "Twenty percent affinity. Trash aptitude."

  Laughter rippled through the candidates.

  "He has everything, but is good at nothing!"

  "Why did he even come? He'll be stuck at Level 1 forever."

  Mingzhi ignored them. He moved to the Resonance Orb. This was the danger zone. A Perfect Seed was a miniature sun; hiding it inside a pebble required perfect control.

  “Spirit, suppress output,” Mingzhi thought. “Create a noise layer.”

  He touched the orb.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then—

  Zzzzt.

  The orb didn't glow. It shivered. A strange, static distortion rippled through the crystal, like heat haze over a road. The light inside flickered rapidly—bright, dim, bright, dim—as the Spirit’s suppression fought the natural radiance of the Perfect Seed.

  The deacon frowned, tapping the glass. "What is this? Is the artifact malfunctioning?"

  On the balcony, Elder Zhang squinted. "A disturbance? No... it is instability. The seed is so weak and loose it cannot even maintain a steady glow."

  Mingzhi held his breath, keeping his face blank, though sweat trickled down his spine.

  "The reading is... inconclusive," the deacon muttered. He looked at the flickering, greyish static. "It registers as formed, but barely. It’s a mess."

  "Mark it as Low Grade," Elder Zhang called down, bored. "It’s clearly a trash seed to match a trash body. Pass him to the next test so he can fail there."

  "Seed Quality: Low," the deacon announced.

  Mingzhi withdrew his hand. The static vanished.

  As he walked away, he felt a specific gaze on him. Not the hateful glare of the Wangs, but something sharper.

  He glanced up.

  Lin Qingyu was watching him. She wasn't looking at the deacon or the scoreboard. She was looking at his hands. She was surprised.

  He has a Perfect Seed, the realization struck her. And he is fooling everyone.

  She had seen the static. A Low Grade seed doesn't vibrate the testing orb, she thought. It just sits there. That wasn't weakness. That was a cage.

  She remembered the notes he had given her. The layering technique. The sheer impossible density required to stabilize her own fire. If he knew that theory... he must have applied it. It must’ve been difficult masking that kind of seed.

  A faint, almost imperceptible smile quirked the corner of her lips. She didn't say a word. She just watched him walk to the next station, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes.